Love Finds a Way
by sarapals with past50
Summary: Sara and Grissom are together-and Eli is part of their family. A follow-up story to "I Keep On Loving You". Fluff, happy, a short story. No matter what happens on CSI, the tv series, help keep GSR alive! Read, review, and long live GSR!
1. Chapter 1

_**A/N:** A new story-a follow-up to "I Keep On Loving You". Not necessary to read it for this one! We don't own CSI or the characters, but we do believe Sara and Grissom find love (together). And we believe in Sara's happiness! Enjoy!_

**Love Finds a Way**

**Chapter 1**

Unaware of the beautiful sunny day, Sara and Gil Grissom got out of the car and walked across a parking lot with several dozen other people, all making their way inside the one-story elementary school. The fifty-year old building was as institutional as any government funded structure of its time, totally lacking in architectural attractiveness but designed for practical purposes of educating children. A few scraggly flowers growing in pots at the entrance showed some evidence of regular watering—they had not died yet—and were shaded by an overhang edge of the roof.

Once inside, directions, provided by signs and several adults stationed along the long hallway, had everyone going in the same direction. Sara's only comment as they walked along was that she had gone to school in an identical building.

She was nervous in a way she could never remember; she had eaten breakfast and skipped lunch and now she wished she had eaten something. All because of a little boy named Eli. Grissom held her hand in his as he guided them to two vacant chairs near the front.

"I hope he doesn't get stage fright," Sara whispered. She looked worried.

Grissom kept a smile on his face. "He's going to be fine, Sara." He patted her hand. "He knows his part." Knows his part, very well, Grissom thought. For two weeks, he had heard Eli rehearse ten lines over and over; he had memorized the other children's lines until he knew them by heart. Sara knew them too. The boy had practiced for hours with Sara as Grissom had watched. He was smiling because it was the most joyous time he had experienced—seeing his wife become a mother.

Quietly, he chuckled and placed his arm on the back of Sara's chair. Parenthood had settled on both of them in an unexpected yet enjoyable and agreeable way. Eli had become their son through tragic circumstances, but the boy's optimistic view of the world had survived intact—survived and bloomed, Grissom thought. They were a family—Eli was their son—a state neither had thought would ever happen.

This afternoon, as they sat in Eli's school to watch a second grade class play, he realized they were doing what parents all over the world did. Glancing around, he saw other parents—and grandparents—arriving, filling up chairs, in front of the stage. Most of the parents appeared to be young—early thirties, maybe.

Leaning to Sara's ear, he whispered, "Do I look like a grandpa?"

Spontaneously, she turned to face him, a smile on her face, and kissed his cheek. "No—you look like—like—mmmm—the king." She puckered her lips in a familiar and intimate tease before saying, "You look positively scrumptious, dear." Another quick kiss, and then, "If your son is the prince, you must be the king!" She giggled and placed her hand on his knee giving him an affectionate squeeze.

A few minutes later, the curtains across the stage rippled as several children appeared and primly walked to center stage. A general shuffling of feet, a few waves to parents in the audience, and the children, speaking slowly with well-practiced articulation, announced the names of the three 'plays' to be presented.

Minutes passed as the audience watched a familiar children's story acted on stage—a nursery rhyme put into production as children played the parts of characters as well as trees and flowers. Not one fumbled speaking lines. With the last line spoken, the stage was cleared and another set was put in place for the second story.

Grissom realized Sara was holding her breath.

"Breathe," he whispered as a young wicked step-mother and step-sisters appeared in a much simplified version of 'Cinderella'. In a swirl of stage magic, the little girls' dresses became ball gowns and a giant cardboard pumpkin was turned into a coach for Cinderella.

Sara's hand tightened on his knee as the prince of the ball arrived on stage wearing a blue coat trimmed in yellow and red and a sparkly gold crown circling dark curly hair. Grissom grinned as his son danced across the stage with a natural grace that came as easily for him as walking. A clock struck, the small girl who was Cinderella ran from the stage and lost her 'glass' slipper. And then the prince was looking for the foot to fit the shoe among a dozen other tulle netting clad young girls.

Eli's first lines were delivered with aplomb as he went from girl to girl seeking a fit to the shoe. Most of his words were similar—a question asked before moving to the next girl—until he 'found' Cinderella. The slipper fit and the two small children danced across the stage.

Sara was on her feet applauding before Eli exited the stage; she wasn't alone as all the other children's parents did the same for their child. Hearing a loud whistle, Grissom turned to see Nick Stokes and Catherine Willows standing in the back row, clapping hands and smiling. Applause continued as the children from Eli's play took deep bows before turning to make changes in the stage for the third and final play.

On a quiet street across town, a gracefully designed honey-colored building surrounded by lush plants and brightly colored flowers that provided a natural screen from parking spaces made no announcement of its purpose. Low clusters of purple and yellow flowers banked along sidewalks that disappeared around the back of the building. Sunlight glittered through interlaced vines over windows and doorways. The setting gave an impression of a peaceful and unpretentious home—a large home even by Vegas standards—yet there were too many cars parked in front for this to be someone's residence.

Inside, a thin woman struggled and stirred under light-weight bed covers. Slowly awareness returned as the soft darkness gave way to a sickening, nauseating feeling of pain and exhaustion. Michele Stevens coughed, causing her entire body to flinch with the hurt. With great effort, she opened her eyes. It was day—the room was suffused with pale dappled yellow light. She had been sick during the night, throwing up until she had finally agreed to a medication which had put her to sleep for hours. Licking her lips which were dry and cracked, she groaned as she turned. With bleary eyes, she looked around the room and managed to turn her head enough to see the door of the room.

She was grateful to have a beautiful room and a comfortable bed these days. And people who treated her with a sense of dignity that she knew she did not deserve.

Almost immediately, a shadow fell across the doorway and an older woman entered the room walking so quickly and quietly that Michele could hear the soft swish of fabric as she approached the bed.

"Good morning, Michele," the woman's voice was as gentle as her steps were quiet. Along with the greeting, a straw touched Michele's lips.

She sipped cool water with a slight taste of lemon in it.

"How do you feel?"

With an effort, she nodded. "Better—not so bad." It wasn't really better; she'd never see "better" again.

"Let me help you." The woman gently raised Michele's shoulders and turned the pillow, managing to give it a fluff as she held Michele in the crook of her arm.

"Water?"

The small glass with a straw appeared again. "Easy, now," the woman said softly.

A minute later, Michele took the glass in her hand. "You are so kind to me, Nell."

A hospice volunteer at seventy-two years old, Nell had seen it all. Kidney failure, AIDS, COPD, terminal cancer, heart failure—they all entered hospice care knowing the final result. Very few came in like Michele Stevens—a young woman with an aggressive cancer, already in terminal stages when it had been discovered.

Nell straightened the bed covers, asking, "What would you like to wear today?"

Michele gave a weak smile. "One of the blue ones. The judge is coming later."

Nell nodded. The staff and volunteers had taken great care to find clothes that were comfortable, easy to put on and remove, and as a result, the dying woman had soft cotton pants and shirts to wear. She had no friends, no family, who came to visit, but once a week for four weeks, a judge arrived and spent time with Michele.

As a volunteer, Nell did not have access to a patient's records, but she knew—as all the volunteers knew—Michele's meetings with the judge had something to do with the place Michele had been before coming to the hospice facility. Nell knew the young woman had been in jail and had thought about using the computer to search for a history of Michele, but decided not to do it. Michele was a terminal patient, deserving respect and privacy as any other person Nell encountered. The young woman might, in due time, tell her story to Nell.

It took most of an hour to get dressed because Michele was so weak she could do little without help and Nell had no reason to rush her.

"Would you like something to eat?" Nell asked. Some patients ate until the end; others wanted food available but seldom ate, and Michele was one who ate by swallowing whatever liquids she could, often vomiting most of it almost immediately.

Michele was sitting on the bed, a hair brush in her hand. A brief smile formed on her lips. "You always make me feel better—almost normal. I appreciate that—I really do." Sighing, she asked, "Maybe I can drink a small smoothie—one of those made with fruit."

"Will you be okay for a few minutes?"

The sick woman nodded and Nell left the room. Slowly, carefully, Michele's hand, almost transparent with thin blue veins appearing to pop against pale skin, reached for the bedside table and pulled open the top drawer. As quickly as she could, she picked up a small book and opened it, smiling as her finger ran across the surface of a small photograph. She studied the photograph and replaced it in the book which she then placed back in the drawer and closed it.

By the time Nell returned with a pink fruit smoothie, Michele had brushed her hair and managed to pull socks on her feet.

"I would have helped with your socks," Nell said, a gentle chide in her voice.

Michele handed her the hairbrush and accepted the smoothie. "You can help with my hair—I'm afraid it doesn't look very good."

There were no mirrors in the hospice care center. The last thing most dying people needed was a glance in a mirror. Nell brushed Michele's light brown hair and fastened it with a clip.

"There," the older woman said as she smoothed a stubborn curl behind Michele's ear. "I'll bet you had curly hair as a child."

Slowly, Michele sipped the smoothie as Nell talked about the weather; Michele managed to make an appropriate sound or comment to keep Nell talking, but her thoughts were elsewhere.

_A/N: Let us know if you enjoyed this first chapter...thanks!_


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: Thank you for the kind reception of another story-and now, another chapter! _

**Love Finds a Way**

**Chapter 2**

Sara watched the third play, another children's story, and let her thoughts drift over the past nine months—the length of a pregnancy, she realized. A year ago, she was struggling with day-to-day events until she fell into an open manhole and during the uncomprehending days that followed, her husband had returned. Her heart—her purpose—had returned when Gil Grissom had declared his love to her, had stayed by her side as she learned to walk again, and had stayed. And it was during that time, during a long and difficult rehab, that she and her husband had renewed their marriage. And, as an answer to a forgotten prayer, Eli had come to them. A child—a son—she had lost hope of having a family—and now she had a son; she smiled.

Glancing at Grissom, she found he was watching her, a smile on his face. Her smile spread into a wide grin as she slipped her hand around his elbow.

"He was a great prince," he whispered.

She squeezed her husband's arm, nodding her head. Grissom was a good father—she'd always known he would be. Eli's biological father had known it; had spoken of Gil Grissom as the father he wished he had had. She spread her fingers along his arm in a gentle caress and smiled, satisfied, happy.

Ducking her head to touch his shoulder with her cheek, Sara was grateful. Grissom was at the university in a full-time position which involved research and teaching one class each semester. He was home every night. She continued working at the CSI lab but only part-time. After her accident, as if the sheriff and Conrad Ecklie had taken some responsibility for the event—or perhaps it was the adoption of Eli—she had been offered a new position that gave her flexibility, a less demanding work schedule, and time to be a wife and a mother.

Easily, she smiled as she felt Grissom's hand placed over hers. He whispered, "Nick and Catherine are here." They watched the rest of the play and applauded with other parents as all the children returned to the stage.

When dismissed by the teachers, there was the usual noisy activity of young children celebrating a successful event; adults congratulated the teachers and praised the young children for their work.

Afterwards, Catherine insisted on ice cream treats from a new shop several blocks from the school. And Sara joined Eli in selecting a waffle bowl, filling it with three flavors of ice cream, and eating all of it while listening to Catherine tell stories of her work. Nick was entertaining Eli—or, based on giggles from both, the two were planning an adventure.

Catherine chattered away. She had left the crime lab for the FBI; a job which lasted less than two years before she returned to Vegas and became involved in the management of Sam Braun's operation. Catherine had always insisted she did it for her mother who was close enough to the financial process to know revenue was declining. And, from Sara's viewpoint, Catherine's return had certainly increased the financial situation for Catherine and her mother.

It wasn't the new house or the very expensive car she drove, or the clothes from the high-end shops; Catherine had been extremely generous in adding to a college fund for Eli after her offer to pay tuition at the most exclusive private school in Vegas had been refused. And she continued to be generous within the boundaries Grissom and Sara had set—not just with Catherine, but with Nick and Greg.

Sara made herself listen as Catherine talked about the influx of former Atlantic City casino employees flooding into Vegas. She knew Catherine was far removed from the day-to-day operations but kept an ear to everything that revolved around Vegas' chief source of revenue.

Hearing Grissom's phone ping, Sara watched as he pulled the cell phone from his pocket, frowned at the screen, and scooted his chair away from the table. Pointing outside, he said, "Taking this," and left the table.

"Who's after him today?" Catherine asked, not in a prying manner wanting an answer, but as an interruption in her thought process.

Sara shrugged and a few seconds later, Eli joined their table, slipping next to Sara with a grin on his face. She asked, "And what have you and Nick been doing?"

"He says I could go to the ballgame with him—if you say yes."

Nick, standing behind the boy, nodded his head, said, "I'll have him home early!"

With several other families from the school in the ice cream shop, Sara knew Eli did not want a display of affection, so she touched his hand instead of giving him a double-arm hug. For a brief moment, the love she had for this child, almost overwhelming at times, bathed her senses, tingling her cells as she felt his skin against hers.

Smiling, she said, "Of course, you can go." She had learned months ago that she must let her child develop independence.

There was a quick little foot jig from Eli as he placed his arms around Sara's neck and quickly hugged her; Then, with excited talk about who was playing, where the best seats were, and what food the two could eat at the ballgame, Catherine's chatter was diverted until Grissom returned to the table. He said nothing about the call, instead, adding his approval to ballgame plans.

Downtown, Judge Timothy Dorsey sat in his family court chambers, sighing as he looked at the stack of court documents on his desk. It was a never ending process—more cases coming in every day—yet he attempted to make progress every hour of his long days, often working weekends to clear some of the cases. The file in front of him was a different kind of case and he was worried.

A light tapping on the door was answered with a loud "Come in!" The judge knew who was arriving. When a woman entered, he greeted her with, "Good morning, Maria! Thanks for coming and—most of all thanks for your help."

The woman walked over to the vacant chair and sat down before saying anything. "None of these are easy, are they? But this one is different." She let out an audible sigh. "How do these things happen?"

The judge made a quick smile. "Should I answer that one?"

Maria, a woman of substantial size, chuckled. "You don't have to answer my questions, Judge."

Shaking his head, he said, "What do we do about Michele Stevens?"

A solemn grunt came from Maria before she answered. "I think we both know what's going to happen to Michele—she knew it when she killed her husband."

"Rephrase then—what are we going to do for Michele?" The judge's face saddened. "Why do we let this happen, Maria?"

"I don't know, but some—not many—these women—a few men—get battered and beat up and one day some of them decide they are not going to take it any longer." She shrugged slightly. "I don't think they plan to kill their abuser. It just happens. And when they get going," she shook her head, "they don't stop until—well, you've seen it."

"The entire situation is sad. Until the head injury, the husband had no violent history—it's just sad. He couldn't—didn't get help. She didn't get help, just tried to—to hide what was going on." Shaking his head, the judge reached for one folder on his desk and opened it. "Michele is going to be dead in a month. We—the law—did not do much for Michele while she lived. She really wants this settled before—before she gets to the point of not being—aware of things."

Maria pulled a folder from the large bag she carried. "I did as you asked—looked at a dozen possibles." She sat back in the chair and gave him a satisfying grin. "And then I did some thinking on my own."

Both eyebrows lifted on the judge's face.

_A/N: Catherine, Nick, and a judge...more to come! Thanks for your reviews and comments! _


	3. Chapter 3

A/N_: Thank you for reading and your reviews-and new chapter, a mystery solved (almost)! _

**Love Finds a Way**

**Chapter 3 **

Catherine waited until Sara had checked the seat belt around Eli and closed the door of Nick's truck before asking about the lab. "How is work? Is it really part-time as promised? How is everyone—Ecklie's daughter is still there, I guess. I can't believe 'Mister By the Rules' actually hired his daughter! How is Greg? I was surprised he wasn't here today." She paused a split second for air.

Grissom, standing to one side, hands in his pockets, was silently laughing.

Sara stopped Catherine's on-going questions with, "We're going to have a wedding in the near future. I'm sure you'll be invited."

Suddenly, Catherine's eyes widened; her mouth opened and closed several times as she made an attempt to arrange her thoughts for more questions.

Sara didn't wait. "You'll never guess!" She laughed, saying, "It's Greg—and take a guess who he's marrying!"

Catherine's mouth worked; again no words. Grissom laughed harder but moved near Sara so his hand slipped over her shoulder.

Leaning toward Catherine's surprised face, Sara, in a loud whisper, said, "Morgan." Her face transformed to one of elated satisfaction seeing Catherine's astonished expression. "Greg and Morgan are getting married—big affair from hearing Morgan's plans. At Guardian Angel—already have the date set—plans being made."

Stammering, puffs of air escaping her mouth, Catherine finally said, "Greg! Greg is marrying Morgan—Ecklie's daughter!" Well-manicured nails, fingers sparkling with gold and colored gemstones, a wrist jangling with gold bracelets covered Catherine's mouth as she attempted to process the news.

A flitting moment of concern for her friend caused Sara to add, "It's quietly been developing for a while and Greg gave Morgan a family ring about a month ago. Ecklie seems to be very pleased."

Catherine's hands returned to her hips. "Wow!" Blinking rapidly, she turned her face to the robin's egg blue sky before saying, "Things have certainly changed."

Grissom stepped forward and gave Catherine a quick one-arm hug. As he backed away, he said, "It has changed, Catherine. And we are not there—life goes on. Good for Greg—and Morgan."

"Greg and Morgan—I'm still surprised. I guess I thought Greg would find some brainy girl with a silly side—or would never marry," Catherine said. She reached over and hugged Sara. "Keep me posted—and thank you for letting me be a part of Eli's life. He is so much like Warrick—those beautiful eyes will melt many hearts! The play was wonderful—reminded me of Lindsay's school days."

After a few questions and answers about Catherine's daughter, the three friends headed to their vehicles; Catherine's white BMW i8, with doors that opened like a bird's wing, was parked on the street. Sara did a double-take as several cars seemed to slow to a stop for Catherine to pull into the street.

"How much do you think that car cost?" Sara asked Grissom as she climbed into their mini-van.

Grissom grunted as he clicked the seat belt. "About four times what this van cost us."

Sara laughed. "I wouldn't have been able to get into it—I like our van. It's perfect for us." She clicked her seat belt as her husband backed out of the parking space. "We have several hours—all alone." She touched her fingers to Grissom's face. "Privacy—just you and me!"

Grissom's mouth twisted in a cheerless expression. "We have someone who wants to talk with us."

When Sara's face questioned his statement, Grissom continued, "Remember the judge for Eli's adoption? He wants to talk to us—nothing about Eli—in his office."

Even more puzzled, Sara's eyes widened. "The phone call?"

Grissom nodded. "He asked if we could come as soon as possible. I said we could be there this afternoon—we'd have Eli—and he said that was fine. Only now Eli's with Nick."

"What could he want with us?" asked Sara as Grissom made a right turn and headed to the county office building where the judge's chambers were located. Glancing at her husband, she suddenly knew—he knew more than he was saying. "Give it up, Gil—what's going on?"

"We have a good life, Sara." A smile played at the edges of his mouth. "A good life—I think we can make it better."

/

Judge Dorsey was called an "old-fashioned" judge in Vegas—probably the reason he had been a family court judge for two decades. Believing he should read everything in a case folder, he had seen hundreds of cases in his time as a judge, often thinking he had seen everything that could possibility happen—and then a new case hit his desk.

Maria Dias had been a county social worker before he was a judge. The reason he had requested her for this case-he trusted her. There was not one time he could recall when her opinion or information she provided had been incorrect. Leaning forward, he waved a hand toward the folder.

Opening it, he found what he had requested—a list of six names with several lines of descriptive information following each name. He did not read any of it but looked at the woman sitting in his office.

"Okay, tell me what you've been thinking."

Giving him a satisfied smile, Maria continued, "Michele's little girls need good parents—better than good—they need understanding parents." Maria flipped several pages and pulled one to pass to the judge. "I know they are not on the list but this is a private situation." The judge took the paper. Maria continued, "I've checked—she's working part time now. But what might—I'd say it's a good bet—convince Michele to approve them is what happened to Sara when she was just a kid."

Judge Dorsey raked a hand over his face; a shadow of a smile appeared. "I remember this couple—she works as an investigator for the crime lab. He's older than she is, right? And the little boy—what's his name, about seven years old—was the son of a co-worker."

"That's the couple. The boy is Eli."

"So what happened to her when she was a kid?" The judge asked as he tilted his chair back.

Maria adjusted her position; the chair creaked before she spoke. "I did a thorough check on both of them when the little boy was adopted—standard stuff—and then got a hit on her mother's name. Laura Sidle lives here in Vegas in a long-term care facility—a nursing home. Over thirty years ago, she killed her husband, Sara's father, while Sara was in the house. Stabbed him—according to old reports, the couple had a 'volatile' relationship for years and one day, Laura Sidle put an end to it."

If possible, the judge's eyebrows lifted higher. "You should be a detective."

Laughing, Maria said, "A good social worker is a detective. There was a long history of domestic violence in the home. Sara went into foster care, went to college, and then into law enforcement—a good outcome, I'd say."

For several long minutes, the judge appeared to read the information on the paper Maria had given him before he asked, "Do you think they would be willing?"

"I think they would." A low chuckle before Maria spoke again. "I have a lot of cousins, Judge. One of them happens to work as a housekeeper—once a week for the Grissoms. She says—I haven't said anything to her—she says they are a wonderful family. The little boy has settled in, calls them 'Mom' and 'Dad', does well in school. And when she talks about Sara and Gil—you'd think they—they hung the moon and put the sparkle in the stars!"

Again, Judge Dorsey seemed to be studying the paper in his hand. Maria remained in her chair deciding it was his turn to talk. Finally, he said, "Any ideas about how to do this? How do you ask someone if they want to adopt a couple of little girls?" His hand spread in the direction of the telephone as he said, "Mrs. Grissom, this is the judge you met one time when you adopted your son—how would you like to add two little girls to the family?"

Maria chuckled and grinned. "Sounds like a plan to me! Best one we have anyway."

Leaning forward and gathering up several folders, he sighed. "I'm going to visit Michele—she doesn't have much time left. She'll want to meet the Grissoms." He sighed again, "I'll figure out a way to do this."

_A/N: Now you know the connection! More to come-this one is a short story. Enjoy!_


	4. Chapter 4

_A/N: New chapter, enjoy! _

**Love Finds a Way**

**Chapter 4**

Grissom remained tight-lipped—or rather silently smiling—as he parked the vehicle and the two made their way inside the county building. Security took several minutes and then they were in the elevator returning to the same office—chambers—where Eli had been officially given 'Grissom' as a last name.

At the door, Grissom slowed, stopped and turned to Sara, taking her hands in his. Quietly, he said, "I wanted you to be surprised—this may not turn out as the judge explained on the phone—but he has a case—a case where two little girls…"

"Two? Girls? How little?" Sara's widened with either surprise or shock; Grissom wasn't sure.

He nodded. "They need parents."

"An adoption?" Her voice showed surprised incredulousness.

"An adoption."

For a moment Sara attempted to wiggle her hands free, but her husband kept them securely within his hands.

He said, "The judge wants us to hear the—the situation—its complicated is what he actually said." Releasing Sara's hands, he slid his arms around her. "The greatest disappointment of my life is not—not," his voice choked on a quick intake of breath.

"We have Eli, Gil." Sara whispered, "I cannot be disappointed! He is perfect for us." Her fingers threaded through his hair. "We've talked about being foster parents but never took that step—Eli would love siblings—sisters—he would be thrilled!" Pulling away from his embrace, she continued, "Let's see what he has to say—why he called you—why us. It can't be this simple." Her palm caressed his face for a moment and with a finger she attempted to comb several curls of hair behind his ear. "How do I look? This may be important."

Grissom chuckled, his emotions tucked away for the moment; he knew why he loved this woman with ever fiber of his body. Hugging her again, he whispered, "You are beautiful."

A few seconds later, after a light tap on the door, Grissom and Sara entered an office, one for a secretary, and found it empty.

Grissom called, "Judge Dorsey—Gil and Sara Grissom."

"Come in—I should have met you at the elevator." The judge came from an inner room, extending his arm to shake hands. "I know this is unusual." He waved them through a short hall and into the next room. "No Eli? I had pulled out my box of cars for him."

Sara explained, "A ballgame—he went to a ballgame with a friend."

The judge offered coffee, tea or water; all refused. Then he motioned to chairs around a small table.

"We can sit here and get to business. I know you are curious so we'll get right to the point."

All three shuffled into chairs. Sara noticed a box of cars and another of small building blocks sitting in another chair. A single folder lay on the table.

The judge opened the folder and said, "Two little girls need parents." He slid it across the table to Sara. "Here's the story—six weeks or so, these girls lost their father. The wife, Michele Stevens—their mother—has terminal cancer. The two girls, Caroline and Rosalie, need parents—Michele hopes adoptive parents can be found before she dies. She'll sign papers so this is a private adoption. As far as I've been able to learn there are no relatives except for an elderly aunt who is in a nursing home—Michele says there are no other relatives—hasn't seen this aunt in years—the girls will be orphans but before she dies, she would like to see them adopted by the right people. She wants to meet you, if you'll agree to consider an adoption."

Stunned, unable to speak, Sara looked from the judge to the open folder. Her fingers separated two photographs of little girls smiling at the camera—or whoever was behind the camera. One showed the girls from head to toe, dressed in brightly colored shorts and shirts. The other was a close-up; two faces, smiles showing small white teeth, dark hair that curled around ears, and expressions that could only be described as captivating. Barely more than infants—one a toddler, Sara thought, as she studied the photographs, and the other girl, older but not much.

With a finger she touched the glossy paper, the face of one girl. Her breathing almost stopped; the eyes of one girl were dark brown; the other girl's eyes were green—almost the same shade as Eli's. Sara's eyes misted as her finger continued to trace the two faces.

Suddenly, she actually felt light-headed, as if blood was leaving her brain. She couldn't breathe. Gripping the edge of the table, she managed to make a sound—it must have been her husband's name because he looked at her, quickly reached to take her hand.

"Are you okay?"

She nodded, quickly wiping her hand across her face.

Somehow, Judge Dorsey—she had not noticed that he left the table—returned with a can of Coca-Cola, popped the top, and placed it in her hand.

"Drink some," he said. "I'm sorry—I've not done this before—I—I—didn't think—I know it's a lot to—to spring on someone." He pointed to the photographs. "This one is Caroline—she's two years and two months old. Rosalie is eleven months old—her mother calls her Rosie."

"Just babies," Sara whispered.

"Two," Grissom whispered as he moved the photographs so he could see them.

The judge apologized, "I—I should have thought about this—not just spring it on you. I should have had Maria stay—she's the social worker—she did your home visit for Eli and she's working on this—helping me to find the right parents." He stopped short of saying the social worker had suggested them.

"They are beautiful children," Sara said, regaining her ability to think and speak. "Why us? Out of hundreds—thousands, probably—of couples who want to adopt?"

Judge Dorsey sat back in his chair and said, "Let me back into this situation—the girls are being cared for by Lutheran Services—an older couple—I've been making weekly visits to take photos of the girls and take to their mother. The girls laugh easily, play—do all the appropriate things for kids at their age. I've got four kids, three grand ones, and these little girls are delightful." He pointed to the photographs on the table. "Cuter in person, if possible."

He reached behind him and got another file. "Michele Stevens is spending her last days in hospice care. By the time she learned she had cancer, she was terminal—major organs involved—she might have thirty days to live." He sighed, shuffled a few pages and continued. "About a week after she knew she wasn't going to survive cancer, her husband came at her with a broken beer bottle. She went after him with a knife."

Sara's intake of air was audible. Grissom stroked her hand.

Continuing, Judge Dorsey said, "The husband died almost instantly. She called 9-1-1. According to public records—and Michele confirms—Cary Stevens was a good man. A couple of years ago he was injured in one of those weird accidents—a street light fell on him while he was working in an abandoned parking lot—someplace in Texas where they lived at the time. He got a settlement and they moved to Vegas—wanted to change their lives. But his head injury changed his behavior; he began aggressive, and then abusive." Sadly, he shook his head and handed three pages to Sara.

With shaking hands, Sara took the papers. With a soft, trembling voice, she asked, "How did you know?"

The judge made a palms-up motion with both hands. "When you adopted Eli, the background check—your mother's name came up. When Michele asked if she could pick parents for her daughters—well, she wants more than loving parents—she wants someone to—someone like you, Sara."

/

They made the trip home in silence; except every ten minutes, Sara made a sound, either a deep, shuddering sigh or a smothered sob, Grissom wasn't sure. When he asked if she was okay, she had made the same sound.

After stopping the car, he placed his hand on her thigh. "What are you thinking?"

Turning to face her, Grissom could see her eyes, the color of dark chocolate with flecks of gold that gave them an inner fire, pooling with unshed tears.

"She has to approve us, Gil."

"Judge Dorsey thinks she will." His hand stroked her thigh. "Let's go in—Eli will be home soon."

Sara nodded but she remained in the car until Grissom opened her door and extended his hand to her. He said, "It'll work out, Sara. We'll see her tomorrow. The judge hasn't taken anyone else to meet her."

Looking up at him before she stepped out of the car, Sara said, "I don't know if I should laugh or cry—how many people get this kind of opportunity? All because—because my mother killed my father."

"I'll fix some tea—better than Coca-Cola, I think." He took her arm and, slowly, they walked into the house.

The two dogs met them, running around their ankles, and then looking for who was missing. Their search caused a soft laugh from Sara. The small brown dog, Sally Sue, had once been her dog; the white dog had once been Grissom's dog. Now, the dogs' allegiance belonged to the small boy who they slept with every night. Leaning to pet the dogs before he gave them a treat, Grissom headed to the kitchen.

While he heated water and set out cups, he watched as Sara walked around the living room, picking up objects and setting them down, running fingers along surfaces, moving a pillow. After he set a steaming cup on the table, he walked across the room and guided her to the table without saying a word and sat across from her.

After her first sip, Grissom, who had been slowly stirring his own cup of tea, said, "For most of my life, I avoided attachments that might lead to any commitment of emotions—I managed to keep most people at a distance. You gave me a new life—more than once—one that I am extremely happy in." He reached across the table and took her hand. "When Eli came to us, I thought I could be no happier but I was wrong." He brought her hand to his lips. "Every day I spend in your company becomes the happiest day."

Sara's fingers laced with his. "Can we do this, Gil?"

"We can." He brought her fingers to his lips and kissed them. "I don't want you to be disappointed if—if their mother decides we are not the right people." Grissom knew too well that people his age would not be considered for most adoptions, especially young children.

Tentatively, she smiled. "What do we tell Eli?"

Grissom said, "Nothing yet. Let's see what we learn tomorrow."

Sara's phone chimed with a message. "Nick," she said as she reached for her phone. Smiling as she read the message, she said, "Nick and Eli want to get burgers." Her finger scrolled. "And can Eli please spend the night with Nick because they can go bowling with Greg." She smiled, glanced at her husband, and said, "I think that is a great idea—gives me time to get my thoughts together about all of this." She started tapping her finger on the phone. Her mouth twisted into a sad resemblance of a smile. "And take care of a few other things. I need to think."

_A/N: Thank you-and remember, it only takes 4 seconds to make a comment or leave a review! _


	5. Chapter 5

_A/N: New chapter-enjoy!_

**Chapter 5**

**Love Finds A Way**

In due course, Sara did think—stayed up almost all night—but before that, she took care of a few 'other things'. She gathered clothes and put them in the washer while Grissom prepared a salad and grilled cheese sandwiches. They talked while eating about everything but their visit to see the judge. They walked the dogs. Grissom did most of the talking while she 'straightened' Eli's room—which consisted of rearranging a basket filled with balls and hanging shirts in his closet so all the hangers were in the same direction.

"Don't you want to talk about it, Sara?"

Sitting down on Eli's bed, she said, softly, "I'm afraid to, Gil. What if she doesn't like us?" Her hand knotted over her heart. "Eli was a free gift—one so unexpected that we didn't have time to doubt what we would do! With these two—little girls—oh, Gil—what will we do?"

Her eyes, Grissom saw, as she looked up at him, were swimming with bright tears. He knew the busy work she had been doing since arriving home had been a way to postpone, to delay, talking about her worries.

He sat on the bed opposite her; their legs sliding together in the narrow space. She reached for his hands and gave him a watery smile, saying, "You know I—I put off thinking about kids until—until it was too late to have one." She leaned forward and kissed him. "I never expected it to be so much fun—having Eli with us is fun! Who knew? Just thinking about him puts a smile on my face."

Grissom chuckled, nodding his head in agreement. "I've never said this—but when we got Eli, I wondered how I could love him—because all the love I had was for you. Then," his grin flashed as he continued, "one day, I realized there was an entire room in my brain that I never knew existed! It was Eli who had opened it up—it's weird, isn't it?"

Taking her hands in his, he wrapped them together as he had done thousands of times, bringing her hands to his face. Exposing her fingers, he kissed each one, slowly, gently. At the same time, Sara's forehead came to rest against his.

"Do you remember the first time you did this?" Sara asked.

"Of course, I do."

"I didn't know what to think."

"Yes, you did."

Sara laughed. "I thought I was in some kind of dream."

Grissom stood, pulling Sara up with him, wrapping his arms around her in a warm, tender embrace. "This is no dream, dear. Let's look at the other bedroom—if these two little girls become ours, we've got some changing to do."

Before she could answer, he kissed her, catching her top lip and then the lower, in nuzzling, half-open caresses that sent shivers down to her toes. Continuing to kiss her, he caressed her shoulders and back until the tension that had coiled around her body began to disappear. After long moments, he broke the kiss.

"You want to look at the guest room or take a shower—together?"

Sara's soft giggle whispered against his ear as she said, "Shower—we can't do anything about the bedroom until we know we'll add to the family."

Between the two of them, there was a sense of exquisite physical harmony, of movement without thought. Laughing quietly, they managed to move from Eli's bedroom, along the hallway, across the living room where they roused two sleeping dogs, and into their bedroom.

Sara managed to close the door with the dogs outside the bedroom. "Eli is gone and now we're their best friends!"

Grissom laughed quietly. "Get in the shower. I'll take the dogs outside for a quick one and join you before you miss me."

He brought his face to hers; his fingertips settled on her jaw, gently adjusting the angle of her head. Sara's eyes closed, and she felt the soft pressure of his lips on hers with a lightness of a breeze. His mouth drifted against hers, settling firmly on its third pass. The intoxicating promise of the kiss sent a cascade of emotion from her brain to her toes—and then it ended in a soft nuzzle.

"Three minutes," he promised.

It took him longer than three minutes. Sara was in the shower when she felt the soft whisper of a breeze against her skin as he opened the shower door. His fragrance drifted to her nostrils, the mingling of male skin and the fading aroma of aftershave from early in the day. Slowly, his arms reached around her until their bodies were touching.

"We don't do this enough," he groaned as his chin nuzzled against her wet hair.

Sara passed a shampoo bottle over her shoulder. But the bottle disappeared as both of her husband's hands came around her again, turning her so her breasts pressed against his chest. Sputtering a weak and damp protest, he quieted her by covering her mouth with his.

Folded inside his arms, compressed against his chest, Sara felt her breathing escalate as his tongue flicked against her lips. She felt a melting intimacy as his palms made long strokes over her back, every touch intensified by warm, flowing water. She felt an urgent gentleness as they touched and kissed; warm hands cupped her face as he concentrated on her mouth with searching, hungry kisses.

As their bodies entwined, passion weakened Sara's knees but Grissom's arms moved, keeping her upright.

With a soft chuckle, he said, "Shampoo, soap, conditioner—then bed."

Sara's knee bent and her leg circled around his, pressing his body to hers. "What if we forget all that and do other things?"

Another chuckle before he said, "Bed—I'm too old for the shower."

With a movement that caused him to gasp, Sara did a one-foot hop; at the same time, she caught his very erect penis in her hand, pressed his shoulder with her other hand, and suddenly he was inside her. His reaction was an animated whoop of surprised pleasure. She was giggling.

A moment later, as he tried to back away, Sara had both hands on his butt, squeezing him in a near death grip.

"Sara—Sara—the bed." He pulled his face away from hers, rearranged his hands to hold her against his hips. Her lips were on his neck, her tongue flicking against his skin. With a giggle, she made another move, quickly levering herself away from him.

"I'll get there first," she teased. Before he could react, she stepped out of the shower, dripping water, and ran across the floor, making small puddles where the pad of her foot touched the floor, leaving him naked, aroused, and wet.

Grissom laughed, turned off the water, reached for a towel, and then decided he had no need for a towel. He followed the wet footprints, making a slow deliberate entrance into their bedroom. It took only seconds, but by the time he got to the bed, Sara was tucked under covers, exposing nothing but her head on the pillow.

"Get in here, big fellow!" She giggled. "Wasting time wiggling that big boy around—are you trying to run a flag up that pole?"

With a few tugs, he had the covers off the bed and was hovering above her, knees planted on each side of her hips. Lowering his head, he grinned as he grabbed her hands and pushed their arms above her head. She wiggled her hips.

He glanced down, along the length of her body. "Perfection," he whispered. The pale curves of her breasts, the pink buds of her nipples, a body made to fit his, and he said her name, softly, as his lips met the slope of her neck. His mouth moved lightly against her skin, coasting up the hill of one breast and opening over the delicate tip.

A sound of pleasure came from her throat. Followed quickly by another as his tongue circled the edge of her nipple. Her hips lifted and he lowered his body to meet hers, the heat of his erection causing a soft gasp as he fitted himself between the apex of her thighs.

Wrapping his arm around her, he brought his lips back to hers in a fiery open kiss that seemed to unravel his self-control. She made a little jerk as he touched swollen, tender flesh; gently, he traced the shape of her sex with one finger tip, stroking, parting, gliding through springy curls, as if he were touching a rare butterfly. Finding the opening of where her pleasure was centered, he stroked her, circling delicately until she was writhing in desperation.

Sensation layered on sensation as heartbeats launched into a new urgent pattern; waves of urgency fired together as he parted her legs, pushing her knees up a little, and entered her slowly. He was hard, above her, inside her in a heavy slick slide, thrusting easy and deep with an absolute tenderness, drawing a thrill of pleasure from the depths of her body.

When she moaned, he thrust deeper, stroking and pleasuring her with a measured rhythm, deliberately pushing her to the edge. Her body clinched, throbbed, and then burst into a climax. And while her climax bloomed and burst and surged as waves crashing on a beach, a deep growl was torn from Grissom's throat as his body grew rigid with his own orgasm.

Finally, breathing settled into quiet panting. Grissom lowered his body over hers, his knee and elbow supporting his weight, his face pressed into the curve of her shoulder, still buried inside her.

Sara licked her swollen lips and mumbled, "I needed that."

She caught her breath as he chuckled. Kissing her shoulder, he whispered, "We have all night—I'm not…" another chuckle, "I'm not ready to say goodnight."

_A/N: More to come...thanks for reading! _


	6. Chapter 6

_A/N: We couldn't just leave them-sleeping! Another chapter...more to come! _

**Love Finds A Way**

**Chapter 6**

Although pleasantly tired, the last thing Sara wanted was sleep. She loved the softer side of her husband—a side that few were ever allowed to see.

After Grissom had wiped her perspiring body with a cool, damp towel, he found her a shirt, pulled on a pair of boxers, and disappeared in the direction of the kitchen. A few minutes later, he returned with a bowl of pears and a glass of wine.

As she ate, he crawled back into bed, sharing the wine and pears.

"Eli's favorite food," she said as she fed him a few bites of fruit. "Canned pears—you know, he eats a can a day after he gets home from school."

"He has you fooled—or me. He always wants French fries when I pick him up."

Softly, Sara laughed, snuggling against him after placing the empty bowl on the bedside table. "He knows he can get a salty, fatty treat with you."

Grissom rose on one elbow, his fingers playing idly in her hair. "Do you ever have regrets, Sara?"

She gave him a puzzled smile, "Why would you ask such a thing? I have a few regrets—not about us. I wish I had been kinder to people—I wish Warrick had not—had not died. But regrets about us—no, never."

"You know I love you."

Surprised and touched by his words, Sara turned and kissed his chest. "I love you, Gil Grissom."

Pushing himself to a sitting position, Grissom tugged her up and settled her until she straddled his hips. He stroked a fingertip along the pale skin exposed by the open shirt. He smiled and as he admired the sight of this long-legged woman who sat astride him with her cloud of tangled dark hair and bright, warm eyes, he realized, not for the first time, how lucky he was.

"You are a beautiful woman, Sara." He said as he set hands at her waist and moved them down to her thighs. "And every erotic dream I've ever had about you and your magnificent legs pales in comparison to the reality."

Sara giggled; her laugh encouraging, sexy, and giving rise to desire. "You've dreamed about my legs?"

"Yes." His hands slide up her inner thighs in a lazy, teasing path. He kept his eyes on her face.

Instinctively, muscles in her pelvis tightened, rippling through her abdomen. Her eyes widened as she felt his thumbs touch the sensitive folds of her sex. Another tight contraction swelled as he opened her with gentle massaging strokes; artfully, his fingers, concealed by the shirt, toyed and flirted with delicate tissue until she moaned, drawing a ragged breath as two fingers filled her.

He moved her again, lifted her, positioned her, and helped her slide along the rigid, engorged length of his arousal until she was fully fitted on him. Quickly, she found a rhythm.

"That's it, that's it…" Grissom said, breathless as he held her eyes.

Reaching under the shirt again, he circled her clitoris between thumb and finger in an electrifying counterpoint to her downward thrust, a soft pressure that sent new heat dancing across her nerves. Blazing blue eyes drank in the sight of her pleasure and the realization of how focused he was on her caused the ecstasy to ripen until Sara shuddered in hard, deep spasms. Gripping her waist, Grissom held her firmly as he pushed upward, letting his own pleasure pump and surge through her.

A few seconds later, feeling utterly drained of energy, Sara collapsed over him, her head coming to rest on his chest. His heart pounded beneath her ear for long minutes before it eased and approached a normal rhythm. His arms slid around her body.

"Dear, I think you've done it—I may not be able to move for a month," Grissom said as he clasp his hands together, holding his wife against his body.

They did not move—not much. Sara woke up now and then to find herself enveloped in the heat of Grissom's body and soft bedcovers. He must have been exhausted because there was no sound and little movement from him.

As dawn approached, he was the first to awaken. Carefully and quietly, he got out of bed, and slipped into the bathroom, closing the door as he took care of business—including a quick shower and mouth rinse. Back in the bedroom, he found a pull-over shirt and as he searched for boxer shorts discarded during the night, he heard rustling in the bed. Turning, he watched as Sara stretched and opened her eyes.

Immediately, an irresistible smile curved her lips. No other encouragement was needed for him to go back to bed.

His clean scent rushed over her. "You smell—wonderful," she whispered as they snuggled underneath the covers. "I should do the same."

"No—you always smell delightful," he said with a hint of amusement in his voice. His hands were already roaming her body. His mouth was soft, cool, and faintly minty as it descended to hers and in a few seconds, he was kissing her in the way she loved and she forgot about a shower or brushing her teeth.

His mouth moved along her neck, across her shoulder, to the valley between her breasts, finding places of wonderful sensation; the ticklish place at her ribs, the velvet curve under her breast, the delicate rim of her navel. When Sara attempted to caress him, her hands were gently pushed away. Her breaths turned shallow as her stomach quivered at his touch.

Grissom nibbled and kissed his way to the dampness between her thighs; her legs spread easily at his touch. When he made a long, slow lick into her dark triangle, a high, faint sound escaped her throat. His tongue worked along her soft skin, dancing, tickling, opening her until he began a sweet rhythmic teasing that gave her indescribable pleasure.

When she groaned with impending climax, he withdrew. Hushing her protests with his fingers, he kissed her along the crest of her hip and then, easily and smoothly, he lifted and turned her until she was lying on her stomach. She felt him push a pillow beneath her hips, and then another, until she was propped high and open as he knelt between her thighs. His fingers caressed and gently fondled her sex until she was clinching her fist against her mouth to keep from shouting.

Her muscles tightened and flexed as he pushed inside her; her muscles seemed to draw him in. And then, her moans became uncontrollable. Her twisting hips were steadied in the firm grasp of his hands. He thrust deeper, probing, stroking, pleasuring her with a controlled, measured rhythm…deliberately pushing her over the edge. Her body clinched around his erection in throbbing contractions, milking a climax from him until a deep growl was torn from his throat.

She heard his soft, satisfied moan as her climax burst, shuddering her body as if she might come apart from pleasure.

Later, when they woke for the second time, the sun was overpowering the light from the bedside lamp and their bodies were literally stuck together with sweat. Sara's back to Grissom's chest, his arms wrapped tightly around her so his hands cupped her breasts; it was her favorite position to sleep and neither wanted to move.

"We should get up." Sara was the first to speak only after she felt feather-light kisses on her shoulder.

"Can't we stay here until—until the dogs bark?"

"We have a big day today."

Grissom nuzzled his chin against her neck. "Three kids, Sara. We may never have sex like this again."

She laughed, took his hand in hers and kissed it. "Yes, we will. Kids have to sleep." She felt the rippling of his soft laugh against her back.

He said, "We'll have three kids in bed with us instead of one." He was referring to one of Eli's favorite things to do—crawl in bed with them on Saturday and Sunday mornings.

Sara turned to face him. Her fingertip traced along his jaw. "We have not been given the girls yet—we might not measure up to Michele Steven's expectations."

Grissom kissed her nose. "We will. Judge Dorsey does not want a long parade of potential parents—I'm not sure how long she has to live."

Snuggling together so her head rested on his shoulder, Sara said, "It's all very sad, isn't it? How could one person—have—have so much bad luck?" She made a quiet mumbling sound and sighed. "Do you think we should look for relatives? I mean, the judge says there are none—but what if there is? Someone Michele doesn't remember—her husband's family somewhere?"

"Judge Dorsey has a report from a private detective—found no one alive—all were buried in the same cemetery in Texas." He squeezed her shoulder. "It is sad. But we can make the best of it—three is a good number. Eli gets to be a big brother; the girls get a stable home. And we—we—get two little girls." Planting another kiss on her forehead, he chuckled, "And we have to get up and dressed. Eli will be home soon—the judge wanted him to come with us."

By the time they dressed, took the dogs out, ate, and made their bed, Nick and Eli were making noise at the front door causing the dogs to bark and rush to the door. For the next thirty minutes, all conversation was about the ballgame, bowling with Nick and Greg, and eating pancakes. When Eli wanted to take the dogs outside, Grissom went along, giving Sara a few minutes with Nick.

Quickly, she summarized their news. "Nothing is settled—we meet their mother today."

"Ahh," Nick made a familiar, compassionate face, "this is so sad!" Quickly, he gave Sara a hug. "But the judge is right—you and Griss are perfect for these little girls. Their mother is going to love you." He glanced toward the back door. "Do you want me to keep Eli today? I think he's going to be tickled to be big brother—but—you know, do you want to meet this lady with him?"

Sara nodded, saying, "The judge wants Eli there. He said there is a play area at the hospice—the girls will be there too. He said there is a window so Michele can watch her daughters." Her eyebrows lifted, "We'll see what happens."

Not long afterwards, Nick left. Grissom and Sara sat down with Eli and, in simple terms, explained their upcoming visit to meet Michele.

Grissom said, "This lady is very sick and needs a family for her little girls."

"Is she going to die?"

Sadly, Sara nodded her head, thinking that her child knew too much about death at his young age.

"We can be their family, can't we?" He smiled, adding, "Like when you got me! Is this place like a hospital? My friend Oliver got his sister from a hospital."

Simple enough, Sara thought. "It's sort of like a hospital. You'll get to play with the girls today—they are pretty small—not babies, but not big like you."

Brightly, Eli said, "I'll get ready—don't want to be late. Someone else might decide to take them home!" He got up to leave the table. "Can I go now? I want to take some things."

"Okay," Grissom said. After Eli left, he whispered, "I hope he's not disappointed."

Sara leaned over and kissed him. "Think positive, Gil." She started to rise from her chair but sat down again. Making a funny face, she whispered, "You gave me a workout, dear. I need a long soak in a hot tub."

Grissom grimaced and then laughed. "Well, dear, it's not just you. I'm walking kinda funny myself."

/ - /

Several hours later, both of them managed to get out of their van at the hospice. Eli, excited and carrying a tote filled with toys, skipped two yards ahead of them until he got to the door. Sara had cautioned him for the need to use quiet voices inside the building.

As expected, Judge Dorsey was at the door, opening it just as Eli stopped. The man introduced himself to Eli, waved for Sara and Grissom to enter. He said, "I'm so glad you could come. The girls are here—the caretakers—Mr. and Mrs. Sneed—are in the play area with them." He looked down at Eli. "Let's go find the play room and see if there's anything interesting in there."

Eli held up his bag, saying, "I brought some things. Mom and Dad say we might get some little girls to be my sisters." His bright eyes sparkled as he talked. "I brought soft things because Mom said they are not as big as me."

Judge Dorsey nodded toward Sara and Grissom, a smile on his face. "Let's go find those girls." Again he waved at the Grissoms. "Follow me," he said.

The facility was an institution well disguised to appear as a home. Tastefully decorated, plants filled corners and local landscape prints hung on the walls. They passed through a large open room with couches and chairs placed before long sunny windows. There were small clusters of people gathered in several groups. Walking farther into the building, they passed several rooms with doors opened and closed. Sara noticed the rooms were much like a bedroom, not a hospital room.

A few minutes later, Judge Dorsey opened a door, announcing, "Here's the play area, Eli."

When Sara and Grissom entered, Sara whispered, "Wow!"

The playroom was straight out of Toys R Us with a train table in one corner, a child-sized kitchen in another. There were big plastic blocks and small Lego's, drawing boards, puzzles, books, a water table with boats, a sand table with beach toys, and a three foot tall marble maze. Two little girls were squealing with delight as an older man dropped a marble into the top of the maze.

Grissom glanced at Sara. She was smiling, her hand on Eli's shoulder.

Bending to his ear, she asked, "Do you think you could play while we talk to their mother?" She prompted, "Introduce yourself to the girls, okay?"

Eli nodded, his eyes on the girls for a few seconds. "Tell her we'll take care of them." He slipped free of Sara's hand and headed toward the two girls.

Grissom rocked on his heels, smiling as he stuck both hands in his pants' pockets. Eli made friends easily and within minutes, he was the one dropping the marble into the maze.

The judge tilted his head in the direction of the dark glass wall. "Michele is there."

"I'd like to meet her," Sara said, "before I meet her daughters."

"Go ahead," Grissom whispered. "I'll stay here—watch Eli."

The judge said, "I'll introduce you. Give you time to talk with her." He looked at Grissom and then at Eli. "He'll be fine in here—you can watch him through the window."

Grissom shook his head, saying, "I'll stay here for a while." He walked to where the children were playing, moving an adult-size chair near. Quietly, he introduced himself to the couple sitting with the girls. A few minutes later, the smallest girl was handing him marbles to hold.

"Let's go meet Michele," Judge Dorsey said.

_A/N: A little more sweet smut for 'You know who you are!' Now, leave a few comments or a review! More soon...Thanks!_


	7. Chapter 7

_A/N: Thanks to everyone..._

**Love Will Find A Way**

**Chapter 7**

Michele Stevens knew the day she met Judge Dorsey was one of the good days of her life. She had killed her husband—in an act that another judge decided was self-defense—and Judge Dorsey had entered her life to help set her affairs in order during her final days. Gratefulness did not begin to express her feelings.

When he had returned this morning, followed a short while later by Mr. and Mrs. Sneed's and her daughters, she knew he had found the right couple—parents for her children. She had read their history—enough to know they were honest and compassionate people—and today, the judge had brought them to meet with her.

She watched her daughters play several times a week—deciding a month ago that she did not want them to see her dying—and today was the same. The little girls were too young to be affected by death—to even know what it meant, she thought; they needed to remain innocent. And she had found enjoyment and contentment in watching them. They would not see her in the wretched, ill state she was in as she waited to die.

And it wasn't as difficult for her—the dying process and making arrangements for her children—as it might seem to others. Everyone had a time to live and a time to die, she believed. At ten, she had watched her own father die after massive injuries from a farming accident. Her mother had managed to grieve for another ten years before dying in front of the television while Michele was away at college. Between her parents' deaths, her grandparents had died, leaving her, her mother, and an elderly aunt with a small farm that had been in the family for three generations. Dying was part of living—so she went on living.

She did not finish the semester, moving back to the farm house to live with her aunt, and over the next five years, she worked in the local drug store, for a lawyer, and then for the county where she met the handsome and fun-loving Cary Stevens, who also worked for the county in the highway and road maintenance department. He moved dirt, he liked to say.

Cary had graduated from high school three years ahead of Michele. His father had died in a truck accident before Cary could remember him and he and his mother had lived above the café where she worked. In a small town where everyone was living near the poverty level, it did not matter that your mother was a cook in one of two eating establishments. But it did matter that Cary could catch a ball while running. He played basketball, baseball, and football and did it well—but not good enough for any college recruiting coach to offer him a scholarship. He went to work instead. Two months after he and Michele married, his mother dropped dead in the kitchen of the café where she had worked for over twenty years.

For five years, Michele and Cary lived, loved, and worked in the place they had always called home.

Then a work accident—at the time they thought it was a minor accident—a head injury that left Cary bleeding in a parking lot followed by a week-long hospitalization. And the real tragedy followed. Within days, Michele knew Cary had had a change in personality; a few months later, he received a sizable settlement from the county.

By the time, they decided to leave their hometown, almost randomly picking Las Vegas, Michele knew her husband would never be the same. She could handle his outbursts and rages of temper, even the occasional slap or punch, but it was becoming more difficult to hide Cary from people who had known him for years.

Las Vegas has been their treasure chest—or so they planned. They purchased a house with the settlement money, used the remaining funds for living expenses, and by the time Michele found a part-time job, she was pregnant.

For a few months, they were happy. But it didn't last.

The play room door opened, startling Michele out of her thoughts as the judge entered the play room with a small boy. Her breath caught in her throat as the two walked across the room. The boy—the sparkling green eyes, the soft bouncy hair—mirrored her oldest daughter's eyes and hair. Her gaze moved quickly back to his parents; tears fogged her vision for a few seconds as she confirmed her decision. Silently, she thanked Judge Dorsey. These strangers would be the parents her daughters needed.

Michele watched the exchange between adults and the boy, the boy's approach to the girls, and then a nod, an exchange of a few words, and the man joined the little group playing with the marble maze. She smiled as Rosie, gaining confidence in her ability to walk, took several steps to give Gil Grissom a marble.

A few minutes passed before the door to the room where she sat opened.

Judge Dorsey walked in, holding the door for Sara. "Michele!" He greeted her with a gentle hug before introducing Sara and then arranged chairs so they could sit together and watch the children.

Sara, taking Michele's frail hand between hers, said, "Thank you for meeting with us, Michele." A thousand words had run through Sara's mind before she met Michele; none seemed adequate.

"Thank you for coming." Michele waved her hand toward the window. "You son—Eli—has already made friends."

"He does that easily," Sara said.

Several minutes of silence passed as the three watched the children playing. Eli had given a soft toy to each girl and they were giggling as he pressed hidden buttons for different sounds.

/ /

Judge Dorsey had arrived early at the hospice and found Michele Stevens awake and dressed. Her eyes were focused and bright as they exchanged their usual greetings.

"Are they coming?" Michele asked.

"Your girls are on their way—the Grissom's are coming later. I thought we'd let the girls play, let you watch them for a while."

"They are sweet children, aren't they? I—I want them to be happy, Judge." Michele's eyes closed; her head leaned back into the pillow placed behind her. "I can remember being happy when I was a little girl. I had a playhouse—my dad built it beside the porch."

The judge made a soft chuckle. "These girls will have a playhouse—there is already a tree house in the back yard."

Indicating a large envelope on the table, she said, "I read all the information in the file you brought me—they are good people." Her fingers threaded around the edge of her shirt. "Do they really want two more kids?"

"Oh, yes," Judge Dorsey assured her. "I think this is a gift they never expected. Eli has really thrived—they have a good home, good friends." He lowered his voice to a whisper and said, "I think Sara will decide to stay at home—just my thoughts—financially, she can do it—and I think she's ready for a change."

"You've been so kind, Judge. Not everyone would have done what you've done."

Again, softly, he chuckled, "We've had a lot of help, Michele. Not everyone would have made the decisions you have made—I can't imagine—but I think you can be at peace about your daughters."

She nodded. "Will you help me get to the playroom? I don't want them to see me."

"Are you sure you don't want to hold them again, Michele, let them see you?"

Sighing, she shook her head, "No, I've made my decision—they—Caroline and Rosie need to make attachments to their new parents." When the judge raised his eyebrows, she smiled and said, "I've made my decision."

/ /

The silence extended into a much longer pause in conversation than usual as the three adults watched the children. Sara wanted to talk; she wanted to ask Michele about her daughters. She glanced at the judge who seemed to be concentrating on what was happening in the playroom.

Clearing her throat, Sara said, "Your daughters are beautiful."

Softly, Michele said, "I've decided you—you and your husband will be the right parents."

The judge reached and took Michele's hand.

Sara was stunned, unable to speak. She looked from Michele to the judge who silently nodded.

For the first time since Sara entered the room, Michele turned away from the viewing window and looked out a darkened window at the terrace planted with palm trees, bougainvillea, vividly green vines, and yellow daisies. The automatic sprinkler was misting plants and creating rainbows above the wall.

Softly, Michele said, "I want them to laugh and play, maybe go see the ocean one day—and the mountains where there are big trees—forests with lots of birds." She turned back to Sara. "Once I wanted to be an archeologist and go to Mexico, dig in ruins-instead, I married a man who moved dirt with big machines." She smiled, "Isn't that an odd dream for a girl from the middle of Texas? I don't think I've ever met an archeologist!"

The sick woman leaned forward took Sara's hand, saying, "Go meet your daughters—Judge Dorsey promises he can take care of the legal papers."

For Sara, one of those strange and unexpected moments occurred; a secret well of emotions whose existence she denied, seemed to surge from its hidden soul. Tears filled her eyes and spilled onto her cheeks. Even as she wiped her face with tissues the judge handed her, tears kept falling, her breath whispering with soft sobs as she attempted to gain control of her feelings. She knew she had not cried like this in years.

At some point, she felt a delicate hand on the back of her head and heard the soft voice of Michele murmuring something in a low voice, repeating the same words over and over: "Everything is going to be fine."

_A/N: Thank you for reading; thank you for reviewing. We appreciate hearing from you! Probably one more chapter to this story. Long Live GSR!_


	8. Chapter 8

_**A/N: This chapter concludes this little fluff story. We appreciate everyone who reads our writing-some of you have become dear friends! Thank you! **_

**Love Finds A Way**

**Chapter 8 **

The sun marked mid-afternoon at its point above the mountains to the west; the air was cool and smelled faintly of wildflowers and grass in the meadow. The sky was one of the most extraordinary Sara had ever seen. A long stream of clouds, like lavender ribbons, flowed for miles and miles over the range of mountains in the east, pink tinted right to the expanse of sky that was robin's egg blue. A beautiful day in all ways.

Sara stood, water bottle in hand, gazing at the vastness around her as though she had just discovered and claimed this place. She thought of a line in a book she had read long ago that called the world a fine place and well worth fighting for and, today, it was easily the truth.

She had been in this place since morning when the sun was shining on a new day, drying dew off the grass and the meadow flowers were bright with color. Her family had tumbled out of the van, giggling and shrieking with delight as she and Grissom had unloaded an ice chest packed with cold drinks, fruit, and sandwiches, and various other supplies needed for a day of play. The girls had hopped up and down, squeals of excitement filling the parking lot, when she had fitted a child carrier over their dad's shoulders and he had done the same to her.

Eli got out nets and a backpack as Sara boosted Caroline into the carrier on Grissom's back; he lifted little Rosie into the one on Sara's back. They walked from the gravel parking lot with Eli in the lead, following a well-traveled trail, carrying the ice chest between them.

After they had gotten through the shade of cottonwoods, and watched a family of wild turkeys fluttering on a fallen tree, they left the trail for a sunny field. The wind was ruffling through the flowers, the sky an immaculate blue, bright and flawless as silk. Within minutes of setting the small girls on the ground, Sara's husband and her son had discovered a pebbly thread of water emerging between two large boulders; her daughters were running through wildflowers and she was giving chase.

The day warmed; Sara tied flowers into wreaths that circled dark curls and bracelets that wrapped around small wrists. Eli piled rocks across the trickle of water, making a dam, and used sticks and leaves for sail boats. His imagination had turned the water into an ocean and the leaves into pirate ships.

After lunch, Grissom set up a tent shade and, with little objection, both little girls settled beside their parents and went to sleep. While the two children wiggled and squirmed until their eyes closed, Grissom remained quiet as Sara sang a child's rhyming lullaby.

For long moments after the children went to sleep, their breathing becoming part of the quietness of the outdoors, Sara could hear the flutter and buzz of insects flying in the wildflowers; a fragrance, sweet and clean, floated across the light wind. She leaned back, resting on her arms, and breathed deeply.

When Grissom spoke, Sara was watching Eli, still playing with his pretend boats and the pool of water he had made with rocks and sand.

"He's a beautiful—handsome child, Sara. He always smiles—by nature he is curious, but he has a sureness of happiness that comes because of you."

Sara smiled as she sat forward and wrapped her arms around her knees. She said, "He reminds me so much of Warrick—he has the same build, the same features. Nothing seems to baffle or confuse him for long." Reaching a hand in Grissom's direction, which he took, she continued, "He is an amazing child, isn't he? From the minute he met Caroline and Rosie, he adored them. Every day—after school, he rushes in to greet them—and then me."

As if the little boy heard their words, he glanced in their direction, smiled broadly, and waved.

She squeezed Grissom's hand, saying, "We are so fortunate—and happy."

"You don't mind postponing that second honeymoon I promised?"

Laughing, she said, "We'll go back—a few years from now when the girls are bigger—when they can hike and appreciate bugs and monkeys."

Grissom grunted as he moved; his knees creaked as he got to his feet. "You may have to push me in a wheelchair in a few years."

Sara snorted a laugh. "Well, most of the time, you have no problem with being on your knees." One eyebrow lifted.

Pointing toward Eli, Grissom said, "I think Eli and I will take a walk—we won't go far—and check out the bee population."

Sara nodded and stretched out beside her daughters. She heard Grissom and Eli talking as they went in search of bees. A few minutes of quietness in her life was a rare occurrence and the thought made her smile.

For several weeks after she met Michele Stevens, she could describe life as simply chaotic—organized chaos—definitely unpredictable as she and Grissom had become parents to two little girls. She had immediately resigned and then D.B. talked her into taking "family leave" for six weeks but after six weeks, she had firmly resigned. She visited Michele every day until the young woman, who had given her children up for adoption, died in her sleep.

Sara closed her eyes and remembered the last time she had talked to Michele. The young woman, not for the first time, had said "You're going to be fine."

There had been a modest memorial service, a few neighbors, several people from the hospice, and Sara and Grissom. The adoption had been a process of signing and filing papers and in less than two weeks the two little girls were sleeping in the bedroom next to Eli.

They had friends to thank for creating order from the chaos—Catherine came with what seemed to be an unlimited checking account; Barbara Russell and Judy Robbins, mothers with years of experience, had walked into the Grissom home and helped Sara and Grissom learn the necessities of being parents to very young children.

The day Caroline called Sara "Mommy" had brought tears to her eyes—only a few days after the girls had come to live with them. Their toys had arrived from their previous home, delivered by the judge, the social worker, and, surprising the Grissom's, their housekeeper who had been in the Grissom home for months. With a brief glance at each other, Sara and Grissom realized how this miracle had occurred.

It was amazing how lives had changed. Laughing, chattering children filled their home; five lives changed forever and only for the better.

Leaning over to one of the girls, Sara brushed a lock of hair away from Caroline's face. Both girls were beautiful, sweet-natured children. Caroline could be Eli's biological sister with green eyes and dark hair and skin the color of brown sugar. Looking down at her, the closed eyes with their dark, gold-tipped lashes, Sara was overcome with an emotion that had become familiar during the past months.

Her hand moved to Rosie, slimmer than her sister, pale in comparison with lighter hair and skin yet with eyes as brown as dark cocoa. Sara let her hand rest on the child's back—only a baby, she thought as she gently moved her hand to Rosie's diapered-padded bottom.

Hearing Grissom's voice and Eli's reply, she looked in their direction to see the dark-haired little boy bouncing up and down in the tall grass. Grissom was explaining the insect caught in Eli's net.

These were her children, she thought; enough—more than she had ever expected. She curled her body around the two girls. These three children were a gift; her life, Grissom's life, had changed so completely in twelve short months. In a good way.

She drifted into a contented sleep.

Later, after snacks for everyone and another run through the flowers with three happy children, she noticed the beautiful sky with its lavender ribbons of clouds. Before she could complete a turn and call out to Grissom, she heard the beginning of an unhappy wail.

"Ahh, sweetie," she heard Grissom say as he scooped Rosie into his arms.

Sara was beside him in eight seconds, asking, "What happened?"

Grissom was unfolding small fingers. "I think she caught a bee," he said as he ran a finger over Rosie's palm. "I don't think she's stung."

Wails continued as Eli and Caroline ran toward them. Sara emptied the water bottle on Rosie's palm which turned cries to giggles in seconds.

"I can't find a stinger—not even a red spot," Grissom said as he closely examined the small hand. "Maybe she closed her hand around a flower and the bee escaped."

Eli, stretching to look at Rosie's hand, said, "Dad, you always say not to freak out!" He raised his hand in a 'high five' motion; Rosie spread her hand and patted her palm on his. "See—she fine now! Rosie, you can't freak out!"

Grissom's eyes met Sara as a smile spread across his face. He lifted Rosie and kissed her forehead, saying, "How about ice cream or popsicles on the way home? We have to clean up—leave only footprints."

The rest of the day was a kaleidoscope of events and colors, laughter and dripping popsicles, dogs running to meet children, and exhausted parents.

After the children had been fed, bathed, and put to bed; after two dogs had been walked, fed, and settled into their beds, Sara, after a quick shower, had managed to pick a bouquet of blue, red, yellow, and orange flowers that grew in the back yard. After putting them in a vase, she dried her hands and turned around to find Grissom leaning against the doorway. His hair was damp and curled from a shower; the look on his face was one of confident anticipation.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" She asked.

Grissom smiled. "It's been a wonderful day—a good day—marking an anniversary. One year and so much has happened." He stepped toward her and locked his hands around her back.

Sara's head rested on his shoulder; taking a deep breath, she inhaled the fragrance of his clean skin. The smell of the soap he had used for years gave her a heady rush.

Lifting her so the bottoms of her feet barely touched the floor, he walked her into the bedroom.

"What are you doing?"

He laughed as he pulled her tee shirt over her head and then kissed her. Sara sat down on the bed, glancing at the window where the curtains were billowing in the breeze.

"I smell rain," she said.

"Rain is good."

Grissom scooted onto the bed, stripping his pants off as he did. When he pitched the pants into the air, Sara lay down and did the same with her pants. Quickly, she became lost in the smell of his hair, his skin, in the softness of his hands on her, and the hardness of him when he was inside of her.

For Grissom, he closed his eyes and the images behind his eyelids seemed to have little to do with the intimate act of love with his wife. He saw gossamer fans floating in the sky, a field of bright butterflies waving in a breeze, a glistening dolphin sliding through a wave. She was his greatest gift; he could feel Sara's heart beating against his chest, hear her breathing against his ear. Her hair and the heat of her skin had an erotic fragrance that was, at once, intoxicating and gentle, unforgetable.

He was always in love, but during these erotic moments it was Sara's touch, the presence of her body under him, the grace of her thighs, the tightness of her arm across his back, and the steady pressure of her hand on his back that made her a gift.

Topping the wave of passion, a sensation that felt like a fissure splintering the face of a stone spread to his groin, collapsing his insides, draining his heart, pushing the light out of his eyes. He tried to stop it, to make it last longer, to bring Sara to the same intensity of the moment as she tightened her thighs and drew him deeper inside her.

He felt her lips against his neck as she made a sound perhaps like the sirens of ancient time called to sailors. For long minutes, he heard no sound except for the wind and the heavy pulsing of his heart and then realized it was Sara's breathing and the strong beats of her heart.

Kissing her again on the mouth, her fingers laced through his hair. They were damp with sweat, the bed sheets imprinted with a moment he never wanted to leave. There were occasions in the world when a person could step inside a sonnet, when one doesn't worry about all the other things in the world.

Softly, he said, "I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where. I love you simply, without problems or pride: I love you in this way because I do not know any other way of loving but this, in which there is no I or you, so intimate that your hand upon my chest is my hand, so intimate that when I fall asleep your eyes close."

His fingertips traced along her bottom lip causing her to smile.

"Pablo Neruda." She lifted her head and kissed him before saying, "always sounds beautiful coming from you."

The End

**_A/N: Now that it's finished, should there be a sequel? Thank you for staying with us until the end...now, give us the favor of writing a review! Who knows what is coming for CSI (television series) but we hope GSR will continue with your support and interest. Your reviews help to keep GSR in FF-so for all the GSR writers out there, read, like, and review! Let us know GSR fans are still among us! _**

**_Thank you again for reading! _**


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